Duty of Lions and Men
by BlueBastard
Summary: Hector's sword stops short of killing Patroclus. A lion stalks the forest, blue eyes burning for the Trojan prince. This time, however, it is not anger and hatred, but something else... SLASH Hector/Achilles
1. Chapter 1

It took all of Hector's strength to pull back his swing, the helmet toppling a breath before due to his opponent's misstep. The black crested helm had tumbled, revealing the true identity of the Myrmidon before him. Not the famed Achilles, but rather a younger resemblance to him. It was all in the eyes, not the ruthlessly arrogant icy blue he had come to recognize. The spike of fear before the mortal blow had given the young boy away. Instead of a choking, gasping death, Patroclus found himself fallen on the ground. Tremendously sore. 

But alive.

Breathing hard at his own close misstep, Hector took a moment to read the crowd. Everyone had stopped fighting to watch what should have been an epic battle between the Greek lion and the Trojan tamer. Yet there were none tenser in body and form than one of the dark-eyed Myrmidons with a bandanna, and another of the Greek soldiers with a keen eye. The former must be the famed Eudorus. And the latter... Odysseus.

Feeling as though he had barely grazed by a grave mistake, one that might have possibly cost the war itself, Hector stepped towards Odysseus, chest still heaving. 

"This is enough, for one day." The prince said. 

For the split second Odysseus paused, Hector feared he had approached the wrong person.

But Odysseus was merely getting his wind, nodding, "I agree."

All around them, soldiers sagged with first relief, then weariness. The adrenaline from battle wearing slowly off. 

Eudorus made his way quickly over to the wounded boy, still caught up in frozen shock on the ground. Those dark eyes flicked up at Hector warily as he did so. The Myrmidons swarmed around them. Now it was Hector's turn to tense. He knew how tightly knit their group was. The tales of their camaraderie and brutal vengeance were renowned and widespread. 

Had he made a mistake in sparing the boy's life?

Hector squared his shoulders and faced them all with barely a flinch. War this may be, but the man still had his morals. Yes, the boy was trained. Skilled. But too young and certainly too inexperienced. Judging by the look exchanged between the boy and the Myrmidon's second in command, he wasn't even supposed to be here. 

The faint glimmer of respect in their eyes was not lost on the prince as they collected the foolish boy. However the look was quickly concealed as more Trojans wandered warily closer, preparing to defend their prince if need be. 

It would have been seconds too late, however. Thankfully, they did not seem to crave his death just then. For Hector had no doubt he would not still be standing, were that the case. 

Arm slung around Patroclus, who glanced at Hector as though he would change his mind at any second and send him to hades himself, Eudorus paused to cast a speculative gaze at the prince himself. He gave a slight nod, which Hector did not hesitate to return. 

There could still be respect between enemies after all. 

"He... is his cousin." Eudorus said, though he was not sure why. Something about how the Trojan prince carried himself demanded explanation, though he had been gracious enough to not pry, along with sparing the boy's life. 

Hector's eyes widened slightly at the admission. Seems he certainly ducked beneath a sword swipe there. He could not imagine facing the fury of the Myrmidon's grieving lion. 

Then the lethal, black-armored soldiers were gone. 

Hector shrugged off his helmet, the blue feathery plume flailing in the sudden coastal breeze. The wind caressed his sweat-caked locks, and though he knew he faced a verbal beating back in the castle, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything changed because of this single incident.

-o-o-o-

"He. Did. WHAT!" 

Patroclus shuddered outside the tent. He had been nervous to go inside, still quaking in his cousin's stolen armor. He would have marched in anyway, but Eudorus had held him back, his dark eyes promising to soften the son of Peleus's wrath. Achilles was not someone to cross when angry. Even if you were a dear younger cousin. 

A hard thump was heard inside the tent. Followed by a bloody faced Eudorus exiting the tent calmly. He grimaced after attempting to give the boy an encouraging smile. 

"Enter." The hardened voice beckoned. 

As soon as Patroclus entered the darkened interior, he felt arms close around him. He cringed instinctively, expecting the same treatment as Eudorus. 

But Achilles had merely grabbed the sides of his face, drawing them closer until their foreheads were pressed together. 

Patroclus gaped. He has never seen his cousin so distraught. The way his hands clenched him, how his muscles trembled minutely... Achilles had been genuinely worried. Guilt filled the boy until his limbs ached. He had only wished to fight. 

When Achilles finally opened his eyes, those burning blue orbs bit harshly into Patroclus's widened gaze. 

Do not EVER do that again... 

What actually came out of that low voice, however, merely ordered, "There is a small boat out on the beach-" 

Patroclus started to protest, believing his cousin meant to send him home. But Achilles cut him off, shaking him hard as he growled, "Listen!" 

When Patroclus immediately silenced himself, Achilles continued, "There is a boat, damaged beyond repair. I want you to take an axe, tear it apart for firewood. I don't care if takes you hours, or days. You will not stop until you've made every inch of it into kindling. You will not eat, you will not sleep, until the job is done. Understand?" 

Blinking, the boy nodded. He would not send him home then? 

Achilles shook him again, though gentler this time, gaze softening. He knew sending him back would break the boy's heart. Though it was what he deserved, he figured the order was punishment enough. His tone repeated less harshly, "Do you?" 

Finding his voice, Patroclus nodded vehemently, gulping, "Y-yes, cousin." 

Achilles let out a slow exhale, the tension sliding from his shoulders and out of the small room with that small gesture. He dismissed his cousin with a wave, turning away from the entrance as he did so. 

Thoroughly relieved, the boy hobbled weakly to the door. His older cousin's voice stopped him just as he was opening the flap. 

"Oh and Patroclus?" The boy stood rooted to the spot, daring a glance back as Achilles drew out the agonizing silence. The golden-haired man had his back to him, hands clasped behind him. Patroclus couldn't help flinching as his ever-loving cousin's tone shifted to ice, one usually reserved for the battlefield as he warned, "Disobey me again, and I WILL send you home." 

The tone promised worse than just that, but Patroclus did not have the nerve nor heart to press his luck further. 

"Yes... cousin."

-o-o-o-

Food preserves were running low, so it seemed only natural that Hector volunteered to go with a select group to hunt. They could not afford to dwindle their supplies. The siege had stretched past two years now, who knew how much longer they would have to stay cooped up within their city's magnificent walls. Thanks to Achilles and that damned Odysseus, all their secret trade routes from allies had been discovered and disposed of. 

The forest grabbed at their leathers and tunics, wary of the noise or reflective gleam of armor during the dark hours. They had taken one of the passages on the eastern wall, farthest from the plains leading down to the beaches and enemy encampments. 

It had all been going so well, no sounds of alarm, no unwanted beasts attacking from the forest's dark embrace. Perhaps the calm was what set Hector off, startling him from his mindless wanderings. The men had long split up, in hopes to take down more game in a wider net. 

It was the squealing of the wild boar that first had his attention. He hefted his spear, creeping forward in a stealthy manner. Then he heard a man's shout of agony and fear. Abandoning all attempts of silence, the prince rushed forward, his heart already flowing forth to protect the fearful stranger. 

He burst into a small clearing, taking in the scene in a matter of moments. The man dangling on the trunk, his leg impaled on the tusk of the rampaging beast. The failed escape attempt and certain impending doom as the man was dragged ruthlessly to the ground. The wild boar squealed and snorted, tossing its head as it backed up for a final charge, hoof pawing the ground. 

Hector didn't wait another moment. Feeling the fluid rush of strength from his heel, to his torso, then finally shoulder and arm, he let the spear fly. It gutted the boar from hind to snout, stopping it in it's tracks. Unfortunately it was not before it tore another mangled shout from the stranger on the ground. 

Hector rushed forward before the beast finished it's death throes, using a sandaled foot to topple it to one side, freeing it's unfortunate victim. His eyes assessed the immediate damage, knowing with as much blood as he could see, that the man had little time. Among his injuries, were an impaled leg, a shredded forearm, and bloody fingers. Hector went to pick the body up, his mind calculating the survival rate and how best to get the man treated, when a hoarse cough caught him unawares. 

"It's... you, Trojan... prince..." 

Hector balked, finally recognizing the black tint of armor in the dark. Those glazed eyes, echoing with a hint of fear among the depths of pain. 

"The... cousin." Hector frowned, before approaching once more. He had thought it to be one of his men, though it really wouldn't have mattered who if was. It could have been Agamemnon or Menelaus themselves and he would have done the same. 

Patroclus flinched, gasping in pain at the slight movement. 

"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." Hector said gruffly, before continuing his approach and examining the wounds up close, aware of the hisses and shivers of the boy before him, "You've lost a lot of blood. We are a ways from the castle, but we may yet

make it. " 

"Nghh..." Patroclus made a protesting noise, shaking his head once, weakly. 

"You are in no position to argue," Hector frowned, reaching forward, "This is a matter of life and death." 

Despite his weakened state, Patroclus stopped him with a bloodied grip on the Trojan's forearm with his undamaged arm, his pained eyes showing his understanding of the dire situation as he croaked, "Mmm... my camp... c-closer." 

Hector frowned deeper as he processed the information and it's consequences. As he looked at the forest around them he realized with dawning horror that the boy was right. While it would take over an hour to trek back to the castle on more difficult terrain, it would only take a quarter of that to reach the beach. How had he not noticed he had rounded to nearly knocking on the Greek's door? 

A pained cry from the boy jerked the prince from his thoughts. He was the enemy, but he couldn't let him die. With a grim face, he hoisted the boy over his shoulder, starting in the direction of the Greek camp. The cousin's best chance was there. 

All the prince had to do was figure out how not to get caught.


	2. Chapter 2

He could see the fires through the trunks of the trees, slipping unnoticed by the guards as he took the trail of an obscure ravine. You couldn't see it from any direction, with all the brush surrounding it. Especially in the dark. The only reason Hector knew of it was simply because he had fallen into it once when he was a boy. He timed the movement of the sentries and darted near one of the fires, laying the boy on the ground. 

They would find him soon enough. The boy had been in and out of it since Hector had stumbled onto him. But the prince was sure he would make it. He had trekked faster than he thought possible to ensure the boy would make it. 

He stroked the curls from the pained face, knowing he had few precious moments, but was suddenly overcome with paternal instincts. Would his own son grow to this age? With the war, he couldn't be sure. 

He was just about to rise when a sharp inhale alerted him to the presence of another. Hector's eyes widened as he jumped to his feet, hand instinctively grabbing for his sword. 

He hadn't even heard the other's approach! 

When his hand grasped at nothing, Hector realized his sword was indisposed at the moment, as it was being used as cast and tourniquet. The boy wouldn't have made it thus far without it. 

Those eyes. 

Hector stilled. 

He hadn't believed it possible, but those piercing blues flashed more dangerously now in the dark than it had during the day at any battle. His golden locks framed the perfectly chiseled face as though the man himself had stepped out of a painting. But it was those burning eyes that made Hector shiver. 

"Achilles..." Hector mumbled, the name tumbling out of his mouth without permission. 

Over the initial shock of a Trojan, much less the prince himself, getting this far into camp undetected, the Myrmidon smirked in greeting, "Hector." 

His blue eyes drank in the dark prince before him, dark curls gleaming in the moonlight. Achilles was never one for facial hair, but he couldn't help but notice how perfectly Hector's beard embraced his face, almost presenting those lips as an offering. His gaze lowered and he inspected the intricate blue design of the tunics and leathers, all encasing the lean and sculpted body of the Trojan before him. He had never had the time to adequately appreciate the other man's form. A battlefield hardly gave such luxuries. 

But now at his camp, where he had a definite advantage... 

Hector took a step back, not comfortable at all with the way the muscled warrior was looking at him. Though devouring would be a more apt definition. That smirk only widened when the other noticed his slight retreat. 

A groan from the boy wrenched a concerned frown from the usually confident Myrmidon before him, allowing Hector a startling glimpse of the man beneath. Achilles ate up the distance in the blink of an eye, dropping to his knees as he took a hold of his cousin, inspecting him as he murmured, "Patroclus..." 

Hector had taken two instinctive steps back at the other's approach, once again reaching for the phantom sword at his side. 

But Achilles seemed absorbed with the boy before him. Realizing now would be the best time for a hasty departure, Hector began backing up, unable to take his eyes off of the scene before him. But more importantly, he had to keep the dangerous man in his sights. He took his steps softly, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. 

But those icy blues flicked back up at him, not having forgotten for a single moment. They held the prince enthralled, but the approach of more soldiers and the larger threat of the camp made Hector shake his head, clearing his foggy mind. 

He glanced at the safety of the forest behind him, gaze darting back towards the golden-haired man before him. 

Those blue eyes narrowed slightly, warning him, commanding him. 

Don't. 

Hector took a step back. Then another. Achilles eyes hardened. 

The Myrmidon's voice suddenly roared, "Eudorus!" 

Hector's gaze snapped to the side, noting the hurried approach of several of Achilles deadly men. Spell broken, he glanced one last time at those burning blue orbs, before turning and plunging back into the forest. 

Branches and leaves whipped at him, though he ignored their slight sting. As dark as it was, he didn't stumble until he heard the deep rumble of Achilles calling for his second in command once more. 

He didn't know what the warrior planned, only knew he didn't want to risk life and limb to find out.

-o-o-o-

"Eudorus!" Achilles roared once more, angered as he watched his prey escape deeper into the foliage. 

"Yes, my lord." The dark-eyed man gasped, out of breathe next to the golden-haired warlord. 

Without a glance at anyone, eyes trained solely through the shrubbery the prince had disappeared into, Achilles growled, "Do not let Patroclus die." 

That accomplished, Achilles plowed through the sand dunes straight into the forest itself. 

"Yes, my lord." Eudorus barely got out as the warrior vanished into the trees. 

He had only seen Achilles so focused and determined a few times. And each he always drove mercilessly forward until he got what he wanted. He only hoped whoever he was chasing knew he didn't stand a prayer.

-o-o-o-

Breathing heavily, Hector paused to listen for sounds of pursuit. He had been running for a good amount of time, and still hadn't caught wind of anyone behind him. 

A soft neigh perked his ears. He turned slightly and caught sight of a wild horse hiding in the brush. He couldn't shake the feeling running down his spine. The feeling that he was being stalked. Realizing it's capture would greatly increase his chances of escape, Hector turned to it calmly. When he was sure it was acknowledging his presence, though wary, he slowly moved forward. 

It nickered, stomping one of its hooves nervously as he got within two arm-lengths of it, it's bravery only holding up so far. 

"Shh shhh, easy girl. I'm not going to hurt you." He said softly, drilling the fear and panic inside as he projected a calm facade through his brown eyes and easy posture. 

The mare's eyes widened for a moment as his hand made contact with her nose. Hector kept perfectly still, keeping his hand outstretched at the same distance even as she danced back, tail flicking. He merely continued speaking calmly, telling the grey mare how beautiful she was and how he needed her help. 

Curious, she stepped closer, snout brushing his fingers tentatively before pushing it fully under his palm, nostrils flaring as she breathed in his scent. 

"That's a good girl." Hector exhaled in relief, inching closer. 

She snorted as he cupped the bridge of her nose with one hand, the other coming around to stroke her side. His face hidden in the horse's mane, the prince grimaced. The next part was always the most difficult, no matter how much time was taken to tame the animal. Which, under normal circumstances, Hector would have spent at least a fortnight with the beast before even attempting this stage. 

But he didn't have the luxury of time. 

The moment he leapt onto the horse's back, it went wild. The night turned into a blur of hooves, dirt, and broken branches. The Trojan just rode it out, fists ensnared in the mare's hair. Sweat clung to both when she finally wore herself out, Hector just that more sore than when he started, but he had succeeded. 

Patting her soothingly, he had just begun guiding her with his knees when he received the shock of the night. 

Lounging against the trunk of a tree, as though nothing was out of place, stood Achilles. He looked as if he had been there for some time. 

Sensing the tension of her speechless rider, the gray mare prances nervously to the side, keeping the new human in front of them. 

The Myrmidon pushed off from the trunk, bringing his hands before him as he gave a few slow claps, "Prince Hector, Tamer of horses. Never thought I would live to see the day." 

Hector's eyes narrowed, "Never thought I would be entertaining one of Greece's fiercest

warriors." 

Achilles gave a brief burst of laughter, taking a few steps closer as he did so. He had seen the entire interaction and couldn't help but be awed by the Trojan's patience and obvious skill. Even now it must be difficult to keep such a newly broken animal under control. His mind instantly shoved it into an advantage within his mind, though not so foolish as to believe Hector wasn't aware of it as well. 

"What are you doing here? I didn't harm the boy..." Hector couldn't help asking. 

The Myrmidon cocked his head to the side, eyes piercing Hector's very soul. 

"..." Achilles circled horse and rider, making both uneasy at his silence. 

The prince eyed the paths open to him, realizing in the creeping stillness as Achilles came to a halt, that the warlord had effectively found and blocked the best of them. 

He grimaced as the other smirked. 

It seemed he had no other choice. With a deep exhale, he swung a leg over and slid off the tall horse. 

This only made Achilles grin wider, seemingly pleased with Hector's decision. 

Ever the peace seeker, Hector held out a hand as he implored gruffly, "Look, Achilles, I have no quarrel with you tonight. I just want to get back to the comfort of my bed and wife." 

For some reason, the last statement irritated the Greek warrior immensely. Something in him snapped, and it showed. 

"Then you should have run." Was the only growled warning. 

The leather of Hector's armor groaned as he twisted his torso, barely dodging the thrown spear. He hadn't even- 

Suddenly Achilles was on him. 

Hector cursed inaudibly, wrenching this way and that as he dodged, trading blows with the Herculean man before him. Staggering the blonde with a lucky shot across the temple, Hector swiftly kicked the man's feet from under him, attempting to end it as quickly as it had begun. 

He dropped bodily on top of the Greek warrior, pinning him as he ordered, "Stop this! I only came to deliver the boy. I did not wish to fight you!" 

"You think," Achilles grunted as he wrenched at the Prince's hold, testing out the weaknesses before continuing, "that you can just waltz into my camp, and then leave?" 

"Believe me, it would have gone a whole lot smoother if you had stayed out of it." Hector struggled to keep the blonde down, realizing with dawning horror that they were at a stalemate. He couldn't leave without letting Achilles up, and Achilles wouldn't let him leave if he was. His mind spinning like the chariot's wheels, Hector tightened his grip on the Myrmidon as he glanced around, desperately seeking a solution. 

As if reading his mind, Achilles grunted, "So what exactly is your plan, oh great strategist? To hold me like this all night? Personally, I wouldn't mind, but I would have believed a married man such as yourself would have some qualms against this sort of thing." 

Hector balked. 

He hadn't realized their suggestive posturing. What with him practically straddling Achilles' ass while he kept one arm tight around the man's neck, the other preoccupied with twisting the warlord's arm behind his back. And he never would have thought of it in such a manner, if Achilles had just kept his damned mouth shut. 

This also gave Hector's mind permission to wander on the articles of clothing the blonde wore. Or rather, the single article. Said garment being a deep blue robe that fit the man perfectly, ending slightly lower than the part of the man's autonomy Hector currently sat on. 

"What does that have anything to do with us?" The Prince demanded, twisting the captive arm a little harder as he attempted to bring his thoughts away from how perfectly toned the body was beneath him. Not the soft pliantness of a woman, but the hard, sculpted lines of a true warrior. 

Achilles drowned the cry of pain from Hector's movement with a large gravelly grunt, "So there's an us now, is there?" He twisted, hating the vulnerability in this position, the Trojan's muscled thighs gripping his hips as though they were the flanks of an unruly horse. Which was an apt description, seeing as how Achilles kept attempting to buck the Trojan off his back. 

"What?" Hector growled, distracted as the last movement pressed his groin perfectly against the Greek's- 

"At least one part of you is paying attention." Achilles said appreciatively after a slight pause, his rich tone a little deeper. 

Hector couldn't be more glad that Achilles face was pressed into the dirt, as a heated flush colored his own. 

"What are you-" Hector began to snarl. But had to clench his jaw shut as the Greek rolled his hips in a very specific manner, making the Trojan struggle to contain a moan. 

Without thinking, he leapt up off of the heated body, his mind wandering down paths he had closed long ago. He realized the error in his rash action as the lion sprung up a breath behind him, spinning into an attack. Hector ducked, before quickly backpedaling to dodge the next blow. 

A root made Hector's retreat falter, causing him to slam against the gnarled trunk of a tree behind him, forcing the breath from his chest. Before he could push off and dodge, Achilles was there, body and arms trapping him in. 

His own arms pinned to his sides, Hector leveled the Trojan with a scathing glare. He expected another blow, a dagger through his throat, or another mocking comment. What he didn't foresee, was the speculative gaze that was settled on him, those icy blues no longer burning with anger. 

"Well this... this is an interesting development." Achilles practically purred, his thigh between Hector's legs. 

Hector felt the blush darkening his face, squirming uncomfortably as he threw his gaze to the side. He wasn't really looking at anything. So long as he wasn't making eye contact with him. 

But the Myrmidon warlord wasn't having any of that. 

"Look at me." Achilles commanded. 

Defiance flashed in Hector's eyes, stubbornly keeping his sights elsewhere. It made the warlord's blood boil. Though not in anger. The Myrmidon always enjoyed a challenge. 

"Look. At. Me, prince." Achilles growled, grinding his thigh at each pause, devouring the strained measure of control Hector had against the rushes of pleasure. At the last word, the warlord pressed more intimately, finally drawing out a low moan from those tightened lips. 

"Hector..." Achilles voice caressed the name, the tone scolding as the prince's glazed eyes finally made contact. 

"Hector, I shall give you two options. Either you willingly come back to my camp with me as a guest-" 

"Or what?" Hector scoffed, interrupting the far too smug man, "You'll kill me?" 

Achilles frowned, rewarding the Trojan's impertinence with another grind of his hips, enjoying the way Hector bit his own lip to silence himself, "OR... Dear prince, I shall have my way with you until my men inevitably arrive and help drag you back as a prisoner." 

"What have I done to deserve such charity?" Hector snarled dryly, "Is this how you treat an enemy who has spared the life of your cousin? With threats?" 

"My little cousin..." Achilles growled and shook the dark-curled man slightly, before continuing, "means the world to me. And I thank you," -Achilles paused to rest forehead against sweaty forehead, suddenly serious- "I thank you, Prince Hector, from the bottom of my heart for bringing him back to me not once, but twice." 

A skilled warrior such as the Trojan prince could've slain the boy as easily as a horse would swat a fly from it's flanks, in spite of the training Achilles was giving him. Patroclus was still a novice. Inexperienced, and too rash to think before he leaps. 

While these thoughts ran through the Myrmidon's head, Hector was stunned into silence by the man's sincere tone. Ever since the Greeks had landed on their shores, all Hector had seen was the pure savagery, cruelty, and deadly skill that was Achilles. To think that there was a beating heart underneath all that bronze skin was... too much to take in within one night. 

Out of the quiet around them, a flash of grey suddenly took them both unawares. A shrill cry and hooves striking the spot both warriors had been moments ago, splintered the wood and made the tree groan as it gave under the mare's weight. 

Achilles had dodged and rolled away, losing his grip on Hector before he could drag the man out of harm's way. Hector had only enough time to duck, sitting flat on his rump as the mare stood back on all fours, nickering as it shook her head, silver hair glowing in the moonlight. 

For a moment Hector felt as though it were the moon goddess herself, coming to rescue him. 

Hector looked to the other man for a moment, wondering... Then the tree hit the ground with a shaking boom, snapping the prince out of thought and straight to the moment. Reaching up he grabbed a hold of her mane, vaulting onto her back even as she began galloping away. He hadn't realized the horse was still there. In all honesty, had even forgot that it had been there at all. Achilles had a way of making everything else in the world disappear the moment his intense gaze just settled on him. 

Leaning into the sleek form of the beast, Hector glanced behind him, almost afraid to look. He saw the golden-haired man picking himself up off the ground, staring after them, gaze unreadable. Hector felt those eyes burning in his mind, getting the feeling he would see them long after Achilles was gone from his sight. Hector couldn't control the shiver that ran through him. Then he turned and guided the horse home. 

Achilles couldn't stop the growl that bubbled up from his chest. He had him. He had almost had him. That damned horse... 

Tamer of horses indeed. 

"You interest me, Hector..." He answered to the breeze, knowing no one else would hear. 

With a frustrated growl, he snatched the fallen spear from the ground and stormed his way back to camp. His Myrmidons came to a halt as their leader streaked past them without a word, jaw clenched, muscles tense, and eyes burning a path through the dry foliage. Eudorus silenced one who attempted to speak with a shake of his head. 

Now was not a good time. 

This was the first time Eudorus had ever seen his lord fail. 

Mutely, the group turned and followed a safe distance behind their Myrmidon leader.

-o-o-o-

Hector made love to his wife that night, though she did not question how much rougher he was that night. Nor the look in his eyes when he thought she was asleep afterwards. How he gazed at the night stars through their balcony. 

She could have chalked it up to his near capture or death that night. 

But a wife knew better. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Tell me what is bothering you, husband." Andromache implored, hand rubbing circles over his bare back. She could feel the tense muscles he tried to calm himself, but failed miserably.

She had hoped that a night's worth of sleep would help, but looking at him now in the dawn's early glow, she could see he hadn't slept at all. In his hands was a wooden carving. Another toy for their son. She could've sworn he had told her it would be a bear. But the wooden figurine in his calloused palm was obviously a lion. Another of today's mysteries. 

"Hector..." She spoke softly. 

Hector couldn't help the pang of guilt in him as he recalled a deeper timbre echoing her light and dulcet tones. The other's voice made him shiver, a coil of heat unfurling inside him. He squashed the feeling, moving away from his wife. From her touch. Her voice. As he left the bed, he felt as though he were running away. 

Coward. 

He grimaced as he stopped at the rail. Staring down at the sandy plains, the ever expanding sea before him. Somewhere beyond those dunes lay a man who's very memory haunted the Prince. 

He had married out of duty. Bore a son as an heir. All for the love of Troy . His home. Mother to him and to them all. He couldn't even remember his own mother. King Priam never talked about her much. 

He loved Andromache. Just... not in the deep way a husband should. He had taken great pains to hide this from her, but he feared she always knew. 

She touched him on the arm, and he turned to face her, ready to tell her everything. But one look at her face told him everything. 

She KNEW. 

His deep brown eyes unleashed the depths of his sorrow, as he pulled her into a hug. 

"Who?" Hector felt his wife ask softly, face turned into his shoulder, "Who is he?" 

Frowning, Hector pulled back, holding her at arms-length, "He?" 

"Yes, who is the man that has finally rescued your heart?" Her smile was hopeful, not at all the anger or loathing he had been expecting. Had felt he had deserved. 

But her words troubled him, "Won my- no my love. This man cannot possibly have won my... He- he is a barbarian. A brute. He has no heart of his own. And he is our enemy!" 

"So he is Greek." 

"Heartless." Hector nodded, releasing her as he turned back to the horizon. 

"Perhaps, dear husband, that is why he is so captivated by yours." Andromache murmured, stroking at the side of dark curls, fingers remaining even as he turned speechlessly to her, "You are a good man, Hector. But you care too much for everyone else and not enough for yourself." 

The thought kicked his voice into gear, reasoning of decades pouring out his lips. 

"I am a prince of Troy . It is my duty to look after the wellbeing of my family, my people, and this good city." Hector carefully grasped her hand, keeping it against his cheek before continuing, "He is the enemy, Andromache. I cannot forget that. There is just too much at stake." 

"Like your heart?" Andromache asked, her own ache finally showing through a glimmer of unshed tears, for despite his lack of desire, she loved him with her whole being. Enough to wish him the happiness only another could offer. 

Hector felt a dagger pierce his heart, wrenching it at the pain he had caused in the most compassionate woman in Troy . 

"I do not deserve you." He whispered, as though anything louder would topple her over the edge. 

Her eyes spoke of how he deserved much more. 

But Hector shook his head, turning away once more, except this time to leave the room. 

"It's not possible, Andromache. Please don't bring this matter up again. I just- I... I can't." Hector said defeatedly, disappearing out the doors. 

Andromache watched Hector leave, her face twisted in pained sorrow as she whispered, "No, dear husband... you won't." 

Outside the balcony stood a beggar, hobbling about with a dirty rag over one eye. But the other... well the other glanced up at the royal dwelling with a much too observing glint within.

-o-o-o-

"But why are you telling me this, Odysseus?" Patroclus asked skipping another stone across the water, wincing as it plopped right in after the second bounce, "Shouldn't you be telling Achilles, or King Menelaus? Or someone who could actually do something about it?" 

Odysseus looked at the boy and sighed, taking off the rags and beggar robe, wearing a plain tunic underneath, "I have been watching more than just Hector. I see you, boy. And I know you are troubled." 

Patroclus glanced at Ithaca 's wise King, and couldn't stop the large exhale that heaved from his chest. If he couldn't even keep things hidden from his older cousin, what made him think Odysseus would be any different? He could almost swear the two rubbed off on each other. 

"Why did he do it? Why save me? And it wasn't even once, but twice. It's not just because of my age, right?" Patroclus demanded, he paced from a washed up log to Odysseus and back, "I've been watching the men fight. There is no mercy. Just kill or be killed. Even my great cousin lays waste to all who stand before him. What makes Prince Hector so different?" 

Odysseus had watched the boy rant, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 

"Well, as I said before, the prince often visits a hidden grove just on the outside of the wall. Usually in the evenings, but now mornings as well." 

"And... you want me to... attack him?" Patroclus asked incredulously, eyeing Odysseus as though he were touched in the head by the gods. 

"I cannot say what you will do with the information." Odysseus shrugged, walking off, "I merely thought it would help ease your mind." 

Patroclus continued watching the King walk away, his brow creased. He was so concentrated he did not notice a Greek soldier creeping away from behind a nearby tent.

-o-o-o-

Hector took to the path he knew by heart, the dark of predawn doing little to hinder his steps. He knew it was dangerous, to be so far from the safety of Troy 's walls. But he needed room, needed the space, the freedom, to just breathe. 

On these short forays he never took much with him. Just garments spun in royal blue clothe, hardy sandals, and his trusty sword. Priam had offered him the sword of Troy once, but he had turned it down, convinced his father would live long after this siege is over. 

He tired of seeing the forlorn look in his wife's eyes every morning. She knew. 

Hector was draped with a numbing sadness. He couldn't shake it. The other day when they had battled the Greeks once more, he had kept an eye out for a hint of golden mane, or a glint of golden armor, and he had promptly turned the other way. He could not face the man, much less battle him to the death. This was war. They were on opposing sides. 

One of them was going to have to die. 

And Hector was becoming less and less sure where he stood on that. 

The man was a brute, a murderer. 

Then again, so was he. 

And when Hector had delivered the boy to the bronze warrior, he couldn't help but notice the deep concern and truly... HUMAN... aspect of Achilles. 

He remembered the first time he met the man, his Myrmidon's ransacking the temple of Apollo on the beach. That impossible throw, the man admitting he played no part in the slaying of the priests. And then sparing his life? It made no sense. 

When Achilles had asked Hector then if he knew who he was, the prince had refused to acknowledge him. But of course he knew. Everyone had heard of the Greek lion. 

But for once, the rumors weren't true. At least, not entirely. The man was deadly on the battlefield. Yes. But he was not heartless. He killed with speed. With skill. But none that stood against his blade suffered longer than necessary. And he suspected dissension among the Greeks, particularly between the power hungry King Agamemnon, and Achilles himself. Truthfully, Hector was somewhat relieved to find the Myrmidon in disagreement with the greedy King. It showed the sort of man the Myrmidon was. 

Hector was twirling his sword, lost in thought, when a young voice spoke from nearby, "Why?" 

Hector spun, tip of his blade pointing breaths away from the boy's throat. His eyes widened in recognition of the intruder, though he quickly recovered as he asked gruffly, "How did you find this place?" 

Patroclus gulped, pausing a moment to take in the seriousness of the situation. But he had made it this far. Straightening his shoulders, he asked again, "Why did you... save me?" 

Hector blinked. Of all the things to happen this day, this certainly was not one of them. Realizing his weapon and its placement, Hector lowered it, pacing away as he explained, "You are just a boy." 

"I am not just a boy, I am a man!" Patroclus snarled, enraged as he remembered all the times his own cousin said the same, "I can fight!" 

Hector turned, eyeing the slender youth before him. Seeing the stubborn streak in his eyes, Hector exhaled loudly. So much like his little brother. Positioning himself, Hector commanded, "Attack me." 

"...What?" The dirty-blonde haired youth questioned, thoroughly confused. 

The prince stood with one foot back, arms and stance relaxed. But he repeated more harshly, "Attack me boy." 

"Patroclus." The cousin corrected through gritted teeth, drawing his blade. If the prince insisted, he would at least know the name of his victim. 

He had watched Hector fight from the ruins atop a hill. The battlefield was practically laid out in front of them. The Trojan prince didn't fight with the flash and bravado as his older cousin, but he certainly matched it with strength and speed. Not to mention quick thinking. There was no way Patroclus could walk away from this. 

Had the man truly spared his life just to kill him now? 

Crying out, Patroclus charged, sword raised high. Hector blocked the obvious blow with a flick of his wrist, even disarming the boy as he knocked him to the ground. Patroclus closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow. Only to open them in surprise as his own sword clanged on the ground beside him. 

Hector held back the laugh that rose at the look on the youth's face. 

Had he truly thought...? 

"You look before you leap, kid." Hector grunted, slapping the boy's thigh with the flat of his blade, "Now get outta here before your dear cousin comes looking for you." 

Grabbing his sword, Patroclus climbed to his feet, "No, I came here for answers. Why?" 

Hector glared at him over his shoulder, "Did I not just make it perfectly clear?" 

"What, that I can't hold my own against a seasoned warrior?" 

"Son, anyone with half a season's experience could have deflected that blow. You have power, but you lack patience. Who taught you to fight?" Hector paused, a flash of golden locks and a smug grin echoing through his thoughts. Shaking his head, Hector continued, "Forget I asked that. Just go back to camp. I may not attack you, but I cannot speak for any of the other Trojans." 

Actually, any of his men would listen to Hector at the drop of a hat, but the kid didn't need to know that. The fact that the boy even found this place made it abundantly clear how unsafe it was now. For both him and the boy. 

"But-" 

"No buts." Hector interrupted, sword pointing at the Greek youth once more, though he had no intention of running Patroclus through. Something both knew, but the meaning came through anyway, "Now go-" 

A snap in the brush stilled the blood in the Prince's veins. 

He shot a look at the boy, Patroclus's eyes widening. Just as surprised as Hector himself. 

"Down." Hector snapped urgently. 

But the boy was frozen, asking, "Wha-?" 

The Prince heard the creak of string. No time. Clenching his jaw, he threw his sword aside to dive at the Greek youth, dragging Patroclus with him to the ground just as he heard the whoosh of a projectile sailing overhead. The jarring impact with the ground overshadowed the sting of an arrow grazing his shoulder. A slight pinch and a warm trickle of blood after let him know, though it was small. 

The boy's stunned eyes were locked on the Trojan. But Hector was busy scrambling to his feet, darting towards his dropped blade. An arrow striking the ground dissuaded him from the notion, and he raised his arms slowly, backing up to where his body could almost be described as protecting the boy's. 

Patroclus stood shakily, attempting to stand next to Hector, but the Trojan stepped in front again, calling out, "Who's there? And what are your intentions?" 

After some short rustlings, a red haired man stepped out. Whatever pasty-colored skin wasn't showing, was covered in Greek armor. The most striking feature, however, was the coldness of his beady black eyes. Though Hector took that back as the man's nasal voice filled the clearing, "I am the Warlord Midas, and we have come to escort you to our camp." 

"Agamemnon's man." Patroclus hissed below his breath with malice, earning a raised brow from Hector, before raising his voice for the emerging Greeks to hear, "I didn't realize the King's dog was allowed to travel very far. What business do you have here?" 

"That... is none of your concern, boy." Midas practically snarled, taking a threatening step forward, "I could ask you the same. Meeting with the enemy in secret? That borders on treason, should I see fit." 

That shut Patroclus up, though his eyes still burned. 

Hector stepped forward as well, drawing attention to himself as he eyed the group, "Almost two dozen men... a bit much, isn't it? For a simple escort?" 

Midas merely glared mutely, before nodding at his men to surround the Prince. Hector glanced at the boy, who, oddly enough, looked guilty underneath the frustration on his face.

-o-o-o-

"Where is Patroclus?" Achilles asked nonchalantly, lounging on the soft cushions in his tent. He was slowly picking grapes, a small treat from a successful raid, as he looked up at Eudorus. His second glanced elsewhere in the comfortable silence. 

Eudorus still remembered the first time he had met the feared warrior. Achilles had been little more than a boy, and already showing great talent in the art of killing. Eudorus himself had been little more than a stable boy, shoveling the crap both the animals and his stablemaster gave him. Then one day, the pig of a man attempted to keep his meager wages from him, which he needed to buy medicine for his ailing mum. If the travel-weary, bruised up blonde hadn't showed up, Eudorus didn't know where he or his mom would be right then. 

It was something Eudorus always admired about the man. As he had heard Odysseus say once, others fight for glory, Agamemnon fights for power, while Achilles... well, he simply fights for honor. 

And because he was great at it. 

"Boys will be boys." Was Eudorus's shrugged reply. 

They lapsed back into silence, the feared warrior munching on grapes while the second best fighter stood, busy with his own musings. 

"Eudorus?" 

"Yes my lord?" 

"What is your opinion on the Trojan prince?" 

"Prince Hector? Well he seems very capable of commanding his men, almost as well as you, my Lord. His understandings of battle strategy are formidable, to say the least. He is-" 

"No no no no, Eudorus. I meant the man, Hector himself." 

Eudorus eyed Achilles in slight surprise. If the man ever asked his opinion on an enemy, it had always been to discern the best way to beat them. Never this. 

"The man himse... Well, why is it that you ask, my Lord?" Eudorus asked hesitantly. 

"He... interests me..." Achilles leaned back, examining the tip of a broken lance, the shaft discarded with only the gleaming metal remaining. 

Eudorus shuffled, uncomfortable and unsure for the first time in years in front of his warlord, "I... well, is this because of Patroclus, Lord?" 

Achilles twirled the broken tip between his fingers, "Hmmm... that is but a small facet of the whole, Eudorus. I can't, I just can't, get the fool out of my head. It's every day and night with this nonsense. I think he's been avoiding me during battles. I would see a flash of the royal blue garments one moment, and the next it would be gone. Why I even notice remains a mystery. Can you explain any of this to me?" 

The dark eyed man swallowed thickly, fidgeting. He was getting more and more uncomfortable as the conversation continued. What was he supposed to say to that? 

"Well, no m-my Lord. I mean- uh- I cannot really say..." Eudorus trailed off uselessly. 

"Calm yourself, Eudorus. I don't expect you to have all the answers. Just tell me what you think of him." 

"The- well, the men think highly of him, sir. They respect him." 

"And you, Eudorus?" Achilles leveled his gaze at the other, raising it from the artifact he toyed with in his hands, "What do you think?" 

"I... respect him as well, sire." Eudorus admitted, his eyes resolute. 

Achilles grunted, seemingly satisfied with this, "I see." 

The peaceful calm descended within the tent once more, before it was suddenly shattered. Achilles was on his feet before Eudorus could turn around, blue eyes riveted to the entrance moments before Patroclus burst through. 

"Achilles- cousin," The youth gasped for air, hands on his knees, as one arm pointed outside, "They're taking him- prince- to king. Prisoner." 

Without another sound, Achilles was gone from the tent. As Eudorus ran after the man, he demanded from the boy, "Who?" 

"...Hector."

-o-o-o-

From the moment Hector had stumbled, blindfolded, into the Greek camp, things had been very hectic. The two men that were roughly dragging him by his arms, hands tied behind his own back, came to a sudden stop. It was true that servants often took after their masters. He had seen Midas's malice pounded into their very hearts, right up until they had placed the blindfold on him. Could sense it in their harsh touch afterwards. The Prince had only agreed to come quietly because the boy was there. Their disregard for Patroclus was obvious with how closely they had aimed their arrow. Perhaps that had been part of the plan, but they hadn't expected Hector to act the way he did. Which turned out to be a good thing. 

For them. 

A man's voice called out, "What is the meaning of this, Midas?" 

"Stand aside, Odysseus. This is none of your concern." Midas spat from somewhere at Hector's side. 

"Anything that affects this army, is of my concern." The King of Ithaca snapped back, "And I was not informed of any raids. Who is that prisoner and how have you come across him?" 

Hector blinked painfully as the blindfold was yanked off, the sun already rising in the early morning sky. His vision cleared enough to see Odysseys's face drain of color as he recognized the Prince of Troy. Odysseus had only meant for the boy to... 

"No introductions are needed, I see." Midas sneered, "As for your other question, I knew the young fool couldn't have known where to find the Prince without help." 

The red haired lackey yanked Hector's head back forcefully, wrenching a grunt of pain from the other. 

Odysseus started forward, "There's no need for that Midas! He is already captured and bound!" 

This only made the man yank Hector's head harder, making the Prince bend backwards in half to relieve the wrenching pressure. Though it didn't stop the small cry of pain from escaping. 

"He is MY prisoner. To do with as I wish." Midas snarled, releasing the Trojan as he kicked the precariously balanced Hector off his feet. 

The breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, unable to catch himself with hands bound behind him at the wrists. He rolled to his side, managing to prop himself up on one elbow as he grimaced, "So... this is how you treat your guests?" 

The cruel smile played on the man's lips. 

"Midas," Odysseus grabbed the man's arm as he stepped foreward in warning, "Don't." 

But the man shrugged the King off harshly, turning to his men as he commanded, "Why don't we show him a bit of Greek hospitality?" 

As one, the group of men started laughing and jeering, converging on the lone Prince on the ground. 

Warning bells started ringing in the Trojan's head, and he surged forth, using his momentum alone to flip himself onto his feet. 

The sudden move allowed him to dodge a sweeping kick, and he landed one of his own on the attacker's skull. One went down, but more rushed to his place. Hector was severely outmatched and placed at a large disadvantage. But that didn't mean he would just let them take him so easily. Now that the boy wasn't there to be used against him, he had no qualms going down fighting. 


	4. Chapter 4

Head butting a Greek soldier in the face, Hector heard the satisfying crunch of crushed bone and cartilage before he rammed another off his feet with his shoulder. He followed the move through with a swift kick downwards, ensuring the man could no longer fight with his sword arm after a snap and cry of pain later.

Hector turned, only to get staggered as a blow landed across his face. In a daze, he blinked away the spots in time to duck under an onrushing brutal punch. Using the man's momentum against him, Hector bodily heaved the man over his shoulder, the soldier landing in a heap behind him. And from the crack and pained groan, he seemed to have landed wrong.

Unbeknownst to Hector, a small crowd was forming around them. Both armies had been fighting for many seasons now, injuring and being injured. The more unlucky ending up in pyres by the end of the day. It was a constant cycle of sleep, death, and starvation, their supplies only replenished every few months by their ships. Unless they had successful raids on small villages nearby.

Whatever entertainment they had was taken up eagerly. Though none moved to take up arms in the Warlord Midas's cause. He was not... well liked. Not many were, that knowingly fluffed up and preened for King Agamemnon's approval.

And besides that, they were in between Odysseus's and Ajax's camps. Neither too well known for blindly following King Agamemnon's lead. Ajax himself shoved through the crowd like a baker through dough, his hulking build easily towering over the spectators. The monstrous warrior made his way over to Odysseus. He didn't much like the man and his tricks, preferring a good clean sword fight or drunken brawl any night. But he tolerated him more than any other king or warlord in this entire army, second to only Achilles himself.

"He is a good fighter." Ajax grunted with approval.

Surprised to see the larger warlord, Odysseus quickly recovered and shot a sidelong glare at Midas, "Yes, despite his current disadvantages."

Midas merely snorted, "I say, why not let the men have their sport?"

"He is a Prince of Troy!" Odysseus raged.

"We are all just flesh and bones underneath... King." Midas drew close to whisper mockingly.

"Is that a threat?" Odysseus demanded with hardened eyes.

"Of course not, King Odysseus. Merely... a statement of fact." The Warlord grinned from ear to ear, his eyes dripping with a blackness that made Ithaca's ruler shudder.

Hector started to take notice of surrounding cheers as he singlehandedly took down half of the regiment Midas had sent to retrieve him. The surviving men were made to look as fools, being beaten by a tied captive. And as fools often do, they turned towards a vengeful wraith to sooth their wounded egos.

Hector was tackled from three sides, forced to the dirt. He was dragged up, a little more bruised than before, and held tightly from both sides by his arms. The third man came at him from the front, fist wound back to deliver a face-crushing blow. But Hector used the hold on his arms, tightening his abdominal muscles as he curled up and kicked the man square in the chest. The attacker flew bodily back, hitting a boulder with a sick crack. Another took his place, temporarily disabling the Prince with a blow to the gut.

The nameless Greek soldier yanked Hector's head up by his sweat-drenched hair, sneering down at him.

Face a little bloodied, Hector forced his brown gaze to focus on Midas's man. Defiantly, he spit on the soldier, grinning when the glob landed on his eye.

Swiping the pink spittle from his face in disgust, the Greek backhanded Hector. Pain shot down Hector's bruised body, but for some reason, he started laughing. Years of fighting, of dedicating himself to Troy and his people, all of it for what? To be killed in such a lowly manner with Greeks devoid of honor?

Insulted by the Prince's lack of fear, the soldier brandished a small dagger from his belt, looking towards Midas for approval. The red head nodded, "Make him pretty, but don't kill him. We still need to present him to King Agamemnon."

Hector grimaced. He would have preferred death. He held his head high as the knife-wielding lackey approached, Hector's eyes promising much pain should the man cut him. Alone, the man would have been cowed. But he had the support of the remaining handful of men, and his Lord.

He raised the dagger, the blade gleaming almost gleefully in the rising sun.

Hector steeled himself.

A roar of fury sounded, and suddenly everything changed.

The man with the knife stood confused, hand empty. That is, until he noticed the missing handle sticking out of his shoulder. He kept screaming even as a muscled arm ripped it back out to slash at the man's throat. Gurgling, eyes wide with shock, the man put a hand over the blood spouting out his neck. Bonelessly, he slid to the ground.

Having already discarded the knife after the fatal swipe, Achilles turned from the dying man before the Greek even knew what hit him. He disposed of the two holding Hector before the Prince could blink.

How had he-?

Then Hector was falling, unable to support himself on such short notice. That and his legs didn't seem to be responding to his mental commands.

Only he never made it back down on the ground. Finding himself pressed against the leather-clad side of the warrior, Hector breathed in deeply. The man smelled of steel and sea. The Trojan didn't know what was more surprising, that the man saved him from further beating and mutilation, or that he actually didn't smell half bad.

Hector frowned. Had he just... inhaled the man's scent? Oh gods. Hopefully the man didn't notice.

But the slight upward tilt to Achilles' mouth said otherwise.

Hector's frown deepened and he attempted to shove the man off him. Unfortunately, the attempt was rather pathetic and ineffective with the way his wrists were bound and with Achilles' iron clad hold. Not to mention the fact that the Myrmidon was the only reason he was even upright for the moment.

"Not the wisest choice, Prince. Unless you fancy the taste of dirt and sand." Achilles murmured, eyes focused on the Greeks around them, watching for the slight hint of a threat.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I would prefer it over you and your stench, Myrmidon." Hector growled half-heartedly, fighting the damnable urge to breathe in while he was this close, lest he accidentally smell him again.

Achilles spared an amused glance at the Prince held captive, pinned to the Myrmidon's side by his arm. Blue eyes asked 'Oh, really?' even as his lips spoke with mirth, "You're welcome. Though I would have to say, you didn't seem so opposed to my smell the other night in the forest a month or so ago."

Hector was blushing a furious shade of pink as he fought to keep certain parts of his body under control even as he attempted to rid the memories from his mind. His thighs clenched around Myrmidon armor. The accidental positioning on Hector's part. The not-so-accidental grinding and strokes on Achilles' end. How Hector had to rid all the extra sexual tension by pounding his wife down into their bed later that night. And the many nights following...

"I-" Hector paused to clear his suddenly dry throat, "I have no idea what night you are referring to."

A blonde brow arched deliciously as the owner grinned, "Really...? Shall I remind you?"

Hector looked at the warrior, eyes widening a fraction that only Achilles could notice.

In front of all the men!

A sense of decency and self-preservation narrowed the Trojan's eyes. He would be damned before he'd allow the Greek warlord the satisfaction of-

"Achilles!" Midas roared, surging forth past the bodies of his wounded and dying men, "Unhand the Prince! He is MY prisoner."

Something dangerous flashed in those blue eyes and Achilles' grip subconsciously tightened around the Trojan at his side.

The pure possessiveness of the action sent a sharp shiver through Hector's body. His mind was warning him, but part of his traitorous body heated at the thought. Particularly everywhere the Greek was making physical contact with him rose in temperature. His whole side, the parts of his back and hip that Achilles' arm was curled around, they were all burning. Even underneath the layer of clothing. He shifted, growing more uncomfortable by the moment. But this only made the man hold him even tighter.

"This man is no prisoner of yours. He is a guest. MY guest." Achilles declared brazenly, his stance fearless and his tone filled with conviction.

No one would dare stand up to him. Much less this spineless coward. But, alas, try he did.

"Why must you constantly stick your nose in my business?" Midas demanded, "It was my men who captured him. He is my prisoner by right!"

"So then... it was you who discovered where to find our young prince?" Achilles questioned, eyes flickering over to Odysseus's knowing gaze. He may not know all the facts, but the Myrmidon knew the workings of enemies and allies alike. And from the way the pale skinned man was squirming, Achilles was right on target. He continued, "No?"

The blonde warrior caught sight of Patroclus emerging breathless in the throngs of the crowd.

Smirking, Achilles asked, "So then it must have been you who made contact with the prince. To set off the whole capture? Am I right? No again? Hmm, I must be getting rusty. Wrong twice in a row, well..."

The Myrmidon shrugged, turning to leave with the prince in tow.

"You-you can't do this!" Midas fumed, stepping forward.

Achilles paused, not even bothering to turn to look the man in the eyes as his voice said coldly, "There's a pile of dead bodies that says otherwise. And correct me if I'm wrong, but this isn't your camp, is it?"

That said, the golden-haired Greek walked off, the prince too stunned to put up much resistance.

Midas turned to look around him, noticing for the first time how much nearer Ajax was with that hammer of his. And just how closely Odysseus's men were watching him. Turning without another word, it took all of Midas's control not to sprint out of there.

-o-o-o-

Hector's heart hammered wildly in his chest the closer they drew to Achilles' tent. His pride was the only thing keeping him from struggling in the Warlord's grasp. For it would have been futile. Achilles was stronger and smarter than all of Midas's men put together. None of the maneuvers Hector had pulled back there would work. All the other man had to do was swoop in for a second and Hector was rendered immobile in moments.

Admirable yet frustrating in one fell swoop.

Hector was surprised as the Greek lion released him a few paces from the tent, walking ahead as though he expected the Trojan to just follow.

Waiting sentry at the entrance were two Myrmidon's as still as stone. Though they took a moment each to blink owlishly at the Prince. Achilles was never one for visitors. Besides other Myrmidons, Odysseus, Patroclus and Ajax, the only other people Achilles brought were those he wished to bed. Hector could read it in their faces and shivered before they turned to stone once more. Eyes narrowing, the Prince began sizing them up. The stockier one on the left might give him some trouble, so if he took that one out first and then the taller one he should be-

"Don't even think about it." Achilles stated, pausing as he lifted the flap halfway, the muscles on his back tense, "When you manage to finish with these two you'll have almost fifty other loyal Myrmidon's to fight through."

Hector frowned. He could do-

Then Achilles turned enough that Hector could see half his face, the single blue orb burning as it slowly met his under a lowered brow, "And that's considering you even make it past me..."

With that, the golden-haired warrior strode into the tent, the flap swooshing ominously behind him.

Hector grimaced. He didn't really have much of a choice.

Shoving whatever fear and uncertainty to the bottom and locking it, Hector strode forward to his possible doom.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to all the loyal, and patient fans. Random reviews inspire me to start up where I had a writer's block before.

-BB-BB-BB-

Despite the brave face, Hector found himself standing near the entrance within, uncertain. There were no chairs, only silk cushions draped around the center fireplace, a low set table, and a luxurious looking bed at the back corner, draped in what looked to be soft and plush animal fur.

It certainly was a far cry from what the Prince had been expecting.

Crouched and tending to the fires, Achilles glanced back to take in the surprise on the man's face with an amused chuckle, "What? Were you hoping more for bones, skulls and crude, splintered furniture?"

"Of the sort." Hector begrudgingly answered, forging on to demand, "Is it customary? To keep your guests tied at the wrists?"

"If it suits me," Achilles grinned over his shoulder, earning a scathing glare from deep brown eyes. Turning back to tend the fire once more, the Myrmidon added, "Or if I believe they wouldn't hesitate to stab me with the nearest cutlery, then yes."

Hector blinked, "You... must have some very interesting guests."

"Believe me Prince, when they are tied up, as you are, they are often under me with nothing else on. Begging me not to stop."

Hector stiffened, unable to stop the heated images from searing his brain. To be underneath all that rippling power and brawn, completely at the aggressive man's mercy and needful whims. Would Hector refuse? By the gods, yes! He was the son of Troy. He would not yield. His throat was dry once more, but he wet his tongue enough to croak, "Try it, and you WILL regret it."

"Oh Prince... I highly doubt I would..." Achilles chuckled deeply, standing as he finished shifting the embers and wood, the fire bright and strong. He turned towards Hector, grin widening as he watched the Prince take an involuntary step back. He gestured towards the cushions, "Please, have a seat."

Hector eyed the silken pillows warily. He would have an extremely difficult time getting up from that with his wrists bound. The only other place high enough was the bed, and he was definitely staying as far away from THAT as he could. Hector cleared his throat, "I think I prefer to stand."

Achilles arched a brow, voice deep as he obliged, "As you wish."

There was that damn smirk again.

How Hector would just love to swipe it off the man's face. Frowning, the Prince shook his head and looked around the dwelling. Anything to get his mind off of the man he was stuck alone with. His eyes followed the brown criss-cross pattern of the reinforcing beams, the tent itself arched up like a dome. The first helped against vicious coastal winds and the second helped filter out the smoke through a small flap at the top. Ingenious design.

As the Trojan busied himself looking around his temporary dwelling, Achilles took the time to observe Hector himself. This had to be the first time he had seen the Trojan without any of that fancy bronze or leather Apollonian armor. The sandals alone were intricate enough, however, as they wove around his lean and muscled calves. This brought the Greek's appreciative gaze to the clothe wrapped snugly across the man's thighs, curving around Hector's firm yet generous buttocks, before tucking back in the front. His tunic, on the other hand, was rather loose. But it had a delicious way of offering a tantalizing view of the Prince's well-defined chest through its deep v-neck. Not only that, but the flared out, sleeveless shoulders only helped accentuate Hector's broad shoulders before it tapered down to the man's slender waist.

The Greek Lion's hungry gaze followed up the man's delectable collarbone to the hard lines of his face, softened by the frame of dark curls as well as the man's full beard. It was well kept, not raising more than half an inch from the man's face, and patterned to accentuate his cheekbones like sculpted shadows. It made Achilles wonder about the place down there...

Would it be well groomed as well?

It made him grin darkly. He intended to find out. Perhaps later. For despite the spell Hector seemed to have placed on him, Achilles was still aware of the blood that needed to be tended to on the Trojan's face.

Hector was lucky not to have caught the Greek's hungry gaze. Otherwise he would have darted from the tent faster than Hermes himself, pride or no. Rather, his mind had turned towards more depressing matters. Such as what would be happening within the castle walls. It was already midday, and Hector was known for his early morning routines.

He would often patrol the town, supervising as well as participating in the early morning exercises of his loyal Apollonians. He would wave up at his wife and son on the balcony, both smiling down at him. Though as of late, it was a bit one-sided.

He was so busy with his thoughts he didn't see the other man's approach until he was already upon him. A wet clothe on his cheekbone made him flinch, but the closeness and heat of the other capable warrior made him take half a step back.

But Achilles persisted, following the other as the wet clothe made contact with Hector's face once more. Hector blinked, breathe hitching at the close quarters with his single most fearsome enemy. He expected a dagger to the gut, or slash across his throat at any moment. He attempted to move away once more, but the growl and the hold of those intense blue eyes stopped him in his tracks, "Hold still."

Hector froze out of surprise as much as a small partial reaction to the Greek's commanding tone. He could only breathe when those focused eyes flicked away from his and concentrated on the trail of drying blood. The wet clothe moved across his face in what could almost be a caress. Why was the man even bothering? Had they met on the battlefield, he was sure the other wouldn't stop in the middle to help him tend his wounds. This was all just too surreal.

The Trojan couldn't help as his eyes traced the strong jaw of the man inches from his own. Those eyes were determined, focused solely on the task at hand. It was unnerving, to have all that unfiltered will aimed towards him. And for once, it wasn't driven by the need to kill.

The blonde's lips soon had Hector's attention. For such a hard angled and well muscled body, the man's lips were delightfully full, and for the moment, slightly parted. As he gazed upon them, the Prince was unaware his own mirrored their actions, parting as well as he found it more difficult to breath. Even his own wife never tended his wounds. The sight of blood made her faint. So it had always either been the rough ministrations of Hector's men or Hector himself, though neither were this careful or patient about it. Achilles was just full of curious surprises.

Hector forcibly stopped the shudder that attempted to run its course as the man's breath ghosted across his jaw. It wasn't until the clothe grazed gently across his lower lip, the heat jolting down south, that Hector snapped out of his trance. He pulled back, earning a scathing glare from those eyes once more.

"I..." Hector almost forgot his words, before stilling his beating heart and murmuring, "I can do this on my own... if you could just untie me."

Those full lips pressed tightly together, the Greek warrior not too pleased with the prospect. Then Achilles realized his own thoughts and blinked. Who was he to nurse another seasoned warrior for so slight a wound? He was no nursemaid. But for some reason it irked him to no end that the touches would cease.

Without a word, Achilles dropped the bloody rag into the silver bowl in his other hand, reaching down for the dagger sheathed in the lining of his boot. In the face of the man's silence, Hector swallowed. Hopefully he had not provoked the beast, but he would be damned before he'd willingly let the other coddle him.

The slight clang of the bowl meeting the hard oak of the table echoed in the unnatural silence, Hector nearly flinching. But then Achilles had prowled behind him, tangled blonde strands framing his stoic face. The Trojan resisted the urge to turn, the hairs on his nape standing on end as he felt the man's presence behind him. His mind blared warnings, fully aware after months of fighting and years of tales, exactly what this man was capable of.

Achilles read the man's uncertainty, a slight tint of fear in the air. His animal within craved it, inhaling deeply as he came to a stop at the man's back. The slight tremor didn't go unnoticed, as much as the Prince at his mercy tried to hide it. A smirk played at Achilles lips, hidden from Hector's sight. The Prince was brave indeed, keeping his head high, his stance strong, with Achilles himself standing behind him with a dagger. He had killed a man with less. As he was sure Hector was well aware.

Hector's jaw clenched as he felt the naked blade trailing down his bare arm. Just a pinch more pressure, and it would break through skin. He preferred it to the enveloping heat as Achilles drew closer behind him, breath caressing his ear as the Greek whispered silkily, "Bravery and pride get you no where. Just to Hades' door that much faster."

Perhaps Achilles was wrong. Perhaps Hector was simply a man. Another face in the tide of death and war and fighting. The Greek was drowning in the blood red sea. He was tired. And Hector would be just another face in his regret-filled dreams. Another brother to welcome him on the other side of the River Styx.

But Hector would not be cowed.

Through gritted teeth, Hector turned his head to the side to glare at the man with one eye, as he growled lowly, "Then we are both doomed men."

The dark part of Achilles, the part that had been calling for the man's blood, stilled. The blade paused in its tracks, as the Myrmidon found himself smiling unintentionally. Would Hector never cease to surprise him?

A part of him hoped not.

Hector didn't realize he was holding his breath until it all came out in a silent torrent when the bindings gave with a snap. Circulation flowed back into his hands, stinging with returned life. He rubbed his raw wrists, watching the blonde walk past into view through hooded eyes. He just didn't know what to make of the man.

"My thanks." Hector murmured.

"Don't mention it." Achilles replied nonchalantly, not even turning around as he merely waved his hand.

Hector tread cautiously to the table, picking up the water-soaked rag to finish what the Greek had started. He couldn't help shaking the feeling that he had just barely passed some test moments ago. As though his very life had been in danger by the unpredictable man before him. Wringing out the excess, the Prince lifted the drenched rag to his face, dabbing his wounds and cuts in deep thought. This morning he was safe in his castle walls. And now? Now he was some sort of prisoner? Guest?

Hector suppressed a scoff at the idea.

He eyed the entrance to the tent longingly. Would he stand a chance? Would he die trying?

"I would redirect my line of thought, were I you." Achilles said in his deeply gravelly voice. The tone was nonchalant. But a better man could sense the warning etched inside. Hector, unfortunately, was just the type. And both he and Achilles knew it.

Hector stilled.

The other man did not even to face him, busy pouring a cup from a ceramic pitcher at another table.

"I... don't know what you're talking about." Hector played dumb, forcing his hand to move the reddened rag around his face. It was just in time, too, as Achilles finally turned to face him. One arm crossed over his chest to hook onto the other, drink in hand as he leaned easily back against the sturdy table. The Myrmidon gave him an amused smirk.

His whole posture laughingly asked, 'who do you think you are dealing with?'

"I... was merely calculating my chances." Hector caved, not quite understanding why he felt the need to let the warrior know his true thoughts. Achilles had a truly compelling nature. Even Hector was not fully immune a hundred percent of the time.

"No need. I can tell you, zero." Achilles supplied, before turning back around and grabbing a second cup.

Hector frowned, "That's very presumptuous of you."

The Prince decidedly turned his back on the other, shifting his weight to one side as he dipped the rag into the water. As he wrung it out, he imagined a certain Myrmidon's neck instead.

He nearly jumped as the deep voice whispered huskily from beside his ear, "Not if I know I'm right."

Hector couldn't help the intense shiver that traveled down his spine, hating the way the tone made heat start to pool into his limbs.

He didn't notice the rag slipping out of his hands until it plopped soundlessly into the ceramic bowl. The droplets of water were like the trigger to his muscles, spurring him into movement. He spun around, face twisted in frustration.

The man was so egotistical.

He was so arrogant.

So smug.

Blue eyes struck him. Too close.

Hector had turned around, only to freeze as he found that chiseled face breaths from his own. His stalled brain couldn't even figure out how Achilles had gotten over here so fast, much less how he hadn't made a sound.

Of course, it should have made sense that in order for the Myrmidon to whisper in his ear, physical distance would have to be eliminated. But he couldn't get himself to reason at the moment.

He jerked back, attempting to put some space between them. The table prevented anything more than leaning back, but it was better than nothing. Achilles blinked at the gesture, then fell back on his charmingly annoying smile, bringing one hand higher, "Care for a drink?"

"Er... no, thanks." Hector managed to mumble, eyes darting away from the Myrmidon's face long enough to take note of the two goblets cupped in that one dexterous hand.

"Suit yourself." Achilles shrugged, leaning closer to deposit the two chalices on the table behind Hector.

The Prince's jaw clenched minutely as he held his breath. Straining to keep the distance even as it all but disappeared. He tried to focus elsewhere, eyes tracing the pattern on the far wall. But the movement of the Greek's golden mane caught his gaze, and it was if time slowed. Riveted, he found his sights tracing the adjoining jaw. Then down to the pectorals and shoulders only enhanced by the man's leather armor, fitting him like a second skin. Hector was mesmerized by how Achilles' torso curved snugly into the plaited skirt of the armor, his brown gaze threatening to drop lower as if affected by gravity. But then the Greek's arm and chest grew close enough to brush against his own, and time jerked back to normal as Hector stepped bodily back.

Or attempted to.

Only... he should have remembered the table behind him, which let itself be known through a loudly protesting thud, and a jarring ache suddenly resonating just above the Prince's hip.

Hector winced.

That couldn't have been too obvious.

Maybe he should just scream not to touch him while he was at it. In case the man was a complete imbecile.

In the meantime, Achilles had paused, cups scraping the tabletop, to fix Hector with an incredulous stare. Noting their closeness, Hector's reaction, and how the Prince was still pressing firmly against the table as though wishing he could melt right through it, Achilles raised a brow.

Which would have been fine.

Except it was slowly followed by that familiar smirk.

Achilles set the cups down, only to find the Trojan attempting to step sideways, which would take the slightly flustered man away from the perfectly positioned table. Casually, he let his other bronze arm fall to lean against the table, Hector conveniently penned in. Except in order to further increase space, Hector was forced to lean backwards over the traitorous piece of furniture, elbows bent and palms flat to help his balance.

"Now, I have seen you fight, Prince. Bravely, without fear, no matter the odds. Yet here you are, clearly bothered." Achilles frowned as though perplexed, eyes trailing slowly up to Hector's unreadable face, "And I have to ask myself, what could possibly be the cause to such... strange behavior?"

Hector wanted to refute it. To say anything. But his dry tongue refused to articulate with his equally parched throat.

Achilles kept drawing closer in the already limited space.

Hector saw an opening. And he took it.

Ducking agilely under the Greek's immobile arm, Hector spun to face the other, attempting to straighten any discomfort from his pose. Then Achilles turned slowly.

And there was a burning hunger to his eye.

Any hope the Prince had of pretending none of that happened was thrown out the window.

Clearing his throat, Hector squared his shoulders. Then promptly made a dash for the door.

Maddeningly, Achilles sprinted there faster. Muscled arms were widespread, ready snag the Prince should he attempt to get past.

Fear tightened in the Trojan's gut.

He expelled it as frustration.

"What do you hope to achieve?" Hector growled.

The Myrmidon was not fooled.

"Where do you plan on going?" Achilles countered.

Hector faked left, attempting to slide by the man's right, as he answered in a rush, "Anywhere. As long as it's away from you."

Achilles called his bluff, still blocking his way. Hector would have to go through him.

He needed a weapon.

A glance to the side, further into the tent, brought the rack of gleaming weapons to his eye. There was no other choice. Hector lunged back for them. Hector's fingertips grazed the wooden shaft of a spear before he felt the Myrmidon's presence behind him. Abandoning his salvation, he ducked underneath the blonde's tackle, dancing further away from the rack to keep out of the man's range.

Hector darted another glance at the entrance, the cloth door swaying beckoningly with the breeze, promising bittersweet escape. Tantalizing.

So close yet so far.

The fire burned hotly at Hector's back, dispelling the chill Hector received as he looked into Achilles' predatory gaze.

It demanded dark and sweet promises should Hector be caught.

A feeling started tightening in Hector's gut, as if this was all inevitable. The prince flashed back to the forest. He couldn't stop the shiver, or the flood of heat that rushed through him.

Distraction. That's what he needed.

Hector glanced towards the weapons rack, taking a slight step.

Achilles moved towards-

Then Hector changed course, hightailing it towards the entrance. He pumped his arms, sandals kicking up the sand inside the tent. He was so close. All he could see was the door, his vision excluding all else.

He reached out, fingertips brushing the cloth door to his prison.

Hope soared.

Strong hands gripped his arm, yanking him with too much force. Hector flew across the tent, stumbling before crashing into the sturdy wall. The Trojan snarled, lashing out. His freedom had been so close.

Then Achilles was there.

All golden and blue ferocity.

As if Hector had personally offended him by his attempt, his eyes blazed. But it was more than just that. He could hear a growl reverberating from the throat of the Greek before him. Possessive. Wanting. Self righteous.

The Myrmidon stalked in front of the winded Prince as a lion would, daring him, through lowered brow, to try again. Hector's pride raged high. He would not cower like a cornered dog.

With a roar, Hector did the one thing he knew Achilles would not expect. He charged straight at him. He received the pleasure of seeing those blue eyes widen in surprise, before the jarring impact of his clothed shoulder against the Myrmidon's armored chest. His anger fueled him as he nearly lifted the other in the air, barreling forward until both stumbled over an obstacle.

The Prince wrestled with the blonde, who was slowly regaining his senses, until he noticed the strange softness under his knees. The fur...

Hector's eyes widened this time.

They were on the bed.

And he was on top of the Greek lion. The same as before, except now the man underneath him lay on his back, fully able to see the panic beginning to flit across Hector's face. The Trojan released the man beneath him, scrambling to leap off the bed.

But Achilles was faster.

"Oh no you don't." Achilles growled, recently freed hands capturing Hector's wrists.

Hector blanched, pulling back harder, struggling.

But Achilles merely grinned, yanking hard and hooking his leg around the other's, to flip their positions. Hector blinked, finding himself on his back, the soft furs caressing his arms and legs.

Hector tried not to panic as he realized his predicament.

Achilles had every advantage from his top position, hands pinning down Hector's own, muscled thighs immobilizing the Prince's lower body in addition to the sleek warrior's own weight.

All the while Achilles drunk it in. The normally calm, calculating Prince... flustered.

In the Myrmidon's own bed, nonetheless.

"Release me." Hector bit out, finally realizing the futility of escape after he had so mindlessly given up the reigns.

He jerked his wrists once more, hating how comfortable the fur caressed his skin. Hating how the Greek's grip was like an iron-clad vice. Hating especially how smug the smirk was on the Warlord's face.

"Tsk, tsk Prince. I do believe I have won this round." Achilles grinned like the cat who swallowed the canary, "Now onto the last round in this game. Care to join? I shall ask only three questions. Should you answer them truthfully, I will release you."

"...Seems I have no choice in the matter. I have your word?" Hector could scarcely believe it would be so simple, watching the golden-haired lion through a narrowed eyes, "You will release me should I win your game?"

"The word of a Myrmidon is a bond no man or god can break." The sculpted warrior's tone had turned serious in reply.

Brown eyes steeled with determination, Hector forcing his trapped body to relax as he exhaled roughly, "Ask your questions then."

Pleased that the Prince had agreed to play, Achilles practically purred the first question, "Have you, dear Trojan Prince, been avoiding me during battle?"

Hector blinked.

Of all the things...

How had the Greek Lion noticed this?

Seeing no harm, Hector answered, "Yes."

The way Achilles nodded suggested he knew the answer all along. He continued without pause, "Do you love your wife, Prince?"

Hector jerked as though pierced with an arrow, eyes shooting open, "What does that have anything to do with-"

"Answer the question, Prince." Achilles said sternly.

"-I just don't see the point-" The dark-curled Trojan continued to argue.

"Hector. Just answer the question." Achilles admonished. At the sound of another protest starting on that furiously guarded face, the Myrmidon cocked his head to the side and continued dangerously, "Unless, you no longer wanted to play. Then we could find other... distracting activities to pass the time?"

Hector stilled, suddenly remembering the rippling power of muscle and steel pinning him down. Such power. And all held at bay by the whims of the very warrior regarding him now.

Achilles wanted him to play in this foolish game? Fine.

Anything for his freedom.

Hector shoved down his pride, answering with a short growl, "Yes. Yes, I do love my wife. Is that what you wanted to hear, Greek?"

Achilles brow cocked, mirth twisting the edge of his lip as though he had uncovered a buried secret.

Hector couldn't help but demand, "What?"

"But... not as a husband should..." Achilles trailed off.

It was unnerving, how deep this man -this stranger- could see inside the Prince's soul. It shook Hector to his core, though he was quick to cover up the weakness with a short growl.

"What are you, a damn mystic now? Just ask your last question and let me be." Hector snapped.

"For a man accredited to much patience, it is one of the traits very lacking right now. I must say I find myself disappointed, Hector. For you to be so easily unraveled. Unless... it is just me that does this to you. Then... that would be a *very* different story." Achilles had a smile that unfurled slowly, eyes drinking in the discomfort of the man beneath him.

Hector fought the tint of pink that threatened to color his cheeks.

"Shut up and ask, Greek." He snarled quietly instead, turning to gaze at his trapped wrist, hand flexing.

He was a man of control. He was always above the chaos of the battlefield, even when thrown in the midst of it. Laying here, right now, in the tent of his enemy...

The things Achilles made Hector feel...

He did not like it.

And he only wished to be rid of the man as soon as possible.

"As you wish..." Achilles echoed ominously.

The golden-haired man loved it. Wielding power over any man, beast, or foe. The fact that it was Hector, famed Prince of Troy, tamer of horses, only made it that much sweeter.

The man himself was courageous and honorable in battle. Someone who knew how to handle himself in the heat of the moment.

But right now, Hector was all his.

The Prince was like a skittish colt right now rather than the bold stallion Achilles was used to facing.

And it intrigued him.

He looked down at the dark-curled beauty, relishing the moment. He could just see the dread alongside the stubborn pride broiling inside those deep brown eyes.

"Hector, Prince of Troy..." Achilles paused for dramatic effect, loving how the Trojan minutely squirmed beneath him, "...the last question to your freedom, is do you wish to lay with me?"

A sound of strangled disbelief escaped Hector's throat, his eyes widening a fraction. His voice cracking, the Prince croaked, "I'm sorry. I don't quite understand the question."

Achilles gave a chuckle, leaning closer and grinding his hips ever-so-suggestively. His timbre voice lowered sensually, as the Myrmidon leader clarified simply, "What I mean, dear Hector, is do you want me to fuck you?"

-BB-BB-BB-

I know, evil place to stop. Had to give you guys something. And see if anyone's still interested. 


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